


Dorian Gray

by delorita, SilverFountains



Category: Dorian Gray (2009), The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Gay Character, Gay Sex, Loss of Virginity, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, demi sexual, grey asexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delorita/pseuds/delorita, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFountains/pseuds/SilverFountains
Summary: When Basil finally comes face to face with the monstrous form of his painting of Dorian Gray he desperately tries to save the boy's soul. But as Dorian raises a knife towards him it apears he's come too late. In his final despair Basil utters those three words he had never dared say out loud before ...
Relationships: Dorian Gray/Basil Hallward
Comments: 28
Kudos: 167





	Dorian Gray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neferteri_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neferteri_M/gifts).



> Visuals based on the movie but first scene based on the book.

"We have to destroy it."

"What?" Dorian gasps, aghast. "No!" Suddenly he feels a rage come over him like he has never felt before. He _hates_ Basil Hallward, the man who painted this demonic painting in the first place. Loathes him with every fibre of his being. First he cursed him under the guise of his adulation and now that he hasn't lived up to his expectations this pathetic man wants to destroy him?! "No, you cannot! Don't you dare!" he hisses. 

Basil looks at Dorian, sorrow filling his heart at the contortion of anger in those perfect features. "Dorian, I beg of you," he says softly, trying to calm the young man down. "Can't you see? This… this isn't you! This _thing!"_ he motions to the horrifying mockery of his painting, "this is not what I painted! It can't be!"

Dorian's face shifts from anger to a cruel grin. He steps forward and grabs Basil's chin in his hand, forcing him harshly to look at the painting. "Ah but it is! This is _your_ doing!" he hisses in the artist's ear, squeezing hard. " _You_ did this to me! Look at it! LOOK AT IT!" he bellows, hate and fury coursing through him, feeding him. 

Basil feels his blood run cold as he looks at the evil distortion of the canvas. The cruel eyes burning back at him. Taunting him. Mocking him. "No," he whispers. "This is not what I painted..."

"You are denying that this is your brush stroke?" Dorian snarls. "Your crimson signature in the corner?"

"No, yes, but …"

"You _cursed_ me! You told me I was beautiful. Perfect."

"You were…"

"You wanted me to stay this way. Always! It is why you painted me! So I would never grow old. So that you'd always have that perfect image to look at that you desired so. That is what you wanted. Is it not? IS IT NOT?"

"I …"

"Admit it!" Dorian roughly turns Basil round to face him. "Look at me! This was _your_ wish! I am exactly what you wanted! Unblemished. Unaging. I AM perfect!"

Basil reaches out a trembling hand, caressing that youthful handsome face with his fingertips as tears prick in his eyes. "No, Dorian," he whispers, his throat feeling tight with grief. "You _were_ perfect. It was not only your outward beauty... I admit it, I admired you more than I should have. I … I desired you. But not this. You are not… You-you look like the boy I once painted. But he was not then what you are now. So full of hate. So cruel. Oh Dorian what have you become?" he whispers with the greatest sadness thickening his voice.

For a moment Dorian looks at his old friend with a look that is almost reminiscent of times gone by. Basil can see the confusion behind those black eyes, the inner turmoil.

"Let me help you, Dorian," Basil tries, laying his palm against that porcelain skin. "I know you still have good in you. Come with me. Away from London. We can go to Paris together. Away from all this. If this," his eyes motion towards the demonic painting, "is my doing, then let me undo it. Please."

Dorian's eyes search his. The boy he once loved staring back at him from within that unnatural prison, pleading with him to save his soul.

"It's too late…" those perfect rosy lips he had studied through so many sittings whisper, trembling.

"No! Dorian, sweet Dorian, it's never too late for redemption. If this is the devil's work… We… we must pray. I can find us a priest…" 

"No." There is a shift behind those intense eyes and the glimpse of the old Dorian is gone as that cruel imitation takes his place again. "No!" Dorian grabs him by the lapels of his overcoat, pushing him back, hard, his face right up to his own. "You must pay for what you have done," that sweet voice growls coldly. 

Basil hears the crack as he steps back onto the frame of his painting, pain shooting through his ankle. A foul stench penetrates his nostrils, turning his stomach. The putrid smell of rot and decay. "Dorian…"

"Be silent!" Dorian screams at him. 

Suddenly there is a flash of a steel blade in the light of the gaslamp. Basil did not see where the knife came from or when Dorian picked it up but there it is, twisting in the lad's fist towards him. "Dorian…!" he gasps, his eyes growing wide in shock and fear. 

"I cannot let you go," Dorian says in a strange, strangled voice. "No-one can ever know. Can't you see? No-one must ever see the truth of _my soul!_ "

"Dorian, you don't have to do this," Basil shakes his head, feeling the sweat pool in his palms as that knife inches closer to his throat. "W-we can stop this. The painting… we must destroy the painting!"

"NO!" Dorian presses the cold steel blade against Basil's throat. 

_Kill him,_ it rings through his head. _He wants to destroy_ you! _You_ must _kill him! No-one can know our secret. He must be silenced!_ That intense hatred fills him again like a fire burning from within. His head feels heavy, throbbing painfully. He cannot think straight anymore. The only thing that is clear is what is right in front of him. Behind the trembling figure of the man he once had considered his dear friend he can see his own truth grin back wickedly at him. _This is who you truly are, Dorian Gray. Look at what you are!_

Basil sees just the smallest hesitation. "Please Dorian, don't do this. Do not listen to it. Listen to your heart. I … I love you."

Dorian squeezes his eyes shut as he lifts his fist and plunges the knife forward, feeling the warm blood splash across his face as his hand comes down. A bone chilling scream rings through the attic. And then there is silence. 

+++

Dorian tries to sit up but his whole body feels heavy as lead. He aches like he's never ached before and he feels like he's aged ten years in a single night. He shudders as the nightmare that had plagued his sleep haunts him into the too-bright light of the late day when he finally opens his eyes. 

"Basil?" he croaks softly, his own voice sounding strange to him as he tries to focus on the man holding vigil by his bedside. "Is ...is that you?"

Basil looks up startled as he’d studied Dorian’s fine hands, listening to his ragged breathing, praying that it wouldn’t stop. Now and then he’d dabbed the young man’s forehead with a wet cloth but his hands got batted away as Dorian struggled in his strange sleep, fighting his demons. 

He had carried him downstairs after he had realised what had happened and washed all the blood off them. In the end it wasn't blood at all. Oil paint; horrible wet deep crimson paint that flooded the floorplanks and clotted to their skin like blood. Far more of it than he knows he had used for the demonic painting, far more than the canvas could even hold and he knows he will never paint anything with that colour again. It had turned the water into a bloodbath and at one point he had thought he might be sick. But he had forced himself to complete the task as he felt he owed it Dorian, murmuring again and again, _I love you, Dorian. Stay with me please._

Now he looks into those troubled eyes as they scan him carefully. “Yes, Dorian, it is me,” he hesitates, wanting to reach out to stroke a dark strand of hair away from the young man’s eyes but he does not dare to do so.

"How… What happened?" Dorian says softly, his throat dry and sore. He coughs, trying to push himself up a little. "How long have I been asleep?"

Basil reaches for the carafe with cool water and pours a glass, wondering if he should hold it to Dorian’s parched lips or just give it to him. “You do not remember?” Basil asks hesitantly, hoping that his mind doesn’t play tricks on him and he really hears the soft voice of the Dorian he got to know all those years ago. “You slept almost the whole day,” he whispers, the glass suspended in mid air between them.

"I feel like I have slept for several days. Weeks." Dorian looks at Basil, an unsure smile playing around his lips. "C-could you help me… sit up. Please."

Basil puts the glass aside and aids Dorian in sitting up, laying his arm gently around his shoulder and then pushing a pillow behind his back. "I can imagine," he says hoarsely, holding the water to Dorian's lips. His insides are melting at the thought that he may have his lovely, innocent model back and at the same time he promises himself that he will never paint a person ever again. He is still so shaken by what he had seen on the canvas. _How was that even possible!?_

"What do you remember?" he asks carefully.

"The soirée…" Dorian croaks, sipping the water gratefully. "Masks… Lots of people… dancing… drinking. I… I guess I drank a lot…" _I've never felt this delicate afterwards though_. Then another image comes back into his shook up head. "You!" he looks up at Basil in surprise. "Did I ... did you…" He feels himself blush ever so slightly. He cannot recall the last time he blushed so coyly. "I kissed you," he says, feeling quite sure that he had not dreamt that part.

Basil cannot help but smile, "That you did indeed." He holds that intense gaze, "And I kissed you back, sweet Dorian." He does stroke the hair away from the young man's brow now. _And we made out on the sofa amongst all those people…_

"Oh Basil, I had the most wicked dream," Dorian sobs softly after a moment of contemplation as the other tends to him with such care. "The painting, _your_ painting… No," he shakes his head. "I cannot tell you. I must not burden you with it."

Basil cocks his head to one side, "A dream, my sweet lad? I think a dream would not be a burden for me. Feel free to tell me about it." He dares to take Dorian's hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. The fact that he sounds so much like his former self again gives Basil hope that with the painting, Dorian's cruel side had been destroyed.

Dorian feels himself relax just a little as Basil rubs the back of his hand. Still, he is anxious to speak about it all. "Basil, my dear Basil, I fear I have done the most dreadful deeds." His dark eyes flit anxiously across the room. It all feels like the most horrid dream now, but surely these past years of his life cannot all have been a dream. "You must not hate me for it, Basil. It… I …" He buries his face in his hands now and begins to sob.

"I do not hate you, Dorian," Basil gently rubs Dorian's arm. "You were under a deplorable influence from something I cannot explain. All I know is that was not you. Not the real you that I saw when I painted you all those years ago, my dear boy. But I see him now, that kind soul... " he pours all the love he'd felt right from the beginning and over all those years into his words, not concealing it anymore. _Maybe I should have been open with him in the first place and not put all my adoration into the painting instead of actually_ telling _him_ _the whole truth_ _!_

But at the mention of his soul Dorian's eyes grow wide with fear. "You must not see the painting, Basil!" he anxiously grabs the older man's arm, looking at him with worried eyes. "Please promise me you won't go and look for it. It… it can never be displayed, you understand. Noone must see how black my soul has become!" 

Basil takes Dorian carefully by the shoulders and captures his gaze with his, deciding to be more forward from now on. "You destroyed it, sweet Dorian. You let me see it and then ...we...broke its curse together," he whispers, his heart hammering in his chest, sorrow flaring up when he remembers the young man's fury and pure hatred.

Dorian's eyes grow wide. "What? What do you mean I destroyed it?" he gasps, the images from his nightmare flooding back to him. "No," he wildly shakes his head. "No no no, it cannot be!" So it had not been a dream after all. He truly had found the knife and raised it with the mad, horrific intention to stab poor Basil as the painting whispered wicked things into his head, only to at the very last moment turn his hand and miss the artist by a mere inch as he plunged the knife deep into the dreadful canvas. He had felt the stab wounds he inflicted on his tormenting self-image as true as if he drove the blade into his own chest, over and over until the pain became so unbearable that he lost consciousness, sure that he would bleed out on the wooden floor in a terrible poetic end to his very own tragedy. 

But he is alive! 

A new panic instantly takes hold of him as the terrifying realisation dawns on him. If the portrait is destroyed... He throws the blankets off himself and examines his hand. To his horror the scar that had tainted the painting and not his own flesh is now visible in a fine pale line snaking between his thumb and forefinger. "No!" he cries out, thinking of the hideous image of the portrait, feeling himself turn ice cold. He throws his hands up in front of his face, trying to hide himself in his shame. "Don't look at me!" he cries out. "I don't want you to see me like this!"

Basil can almost feel the lad's horror himself, having seen the distorted art. "You… you look very handsome to me, Dorian," he does not reach out again so as not to intimidate the man he loves. "You...look grown up," he says kindly, searching for the right words. 

Dorian feels himself tremble all over. _Grown up?_ "I … You saw the painting. You saw the monstrous _thing_ I have become," he sobs. "You must not be kind to me, Basil, if the truth is cruel. Tell me honestly," he says softly, anxiously, through his fingers.

Basil's heart aches as he feels Dorian's anxiety. "You must not worry," he says softly, getting up and walking over to the dressing table, taking the mirror from it. He looks briefly into it, noticing the thin lines of age in his own face before handing it to Dorian.

Dorian's hand shakes visibly as he takes the fine silver hand mirror. His heart is beating so fast he thinks it may just beat itself to death against his rib cage and his stomach lurches sickeningly as he forces himself to look at the dreaded image of his wicked reflection. 

He touches his face in wonder. The image isn't the vile horror that had haunted his dreams. Looking back at him is something both familiar and unfamiliar. He feels for his cheeks, his eyebrows, the shape of his nose, his lips and his chin, seeing his fingers trace it all through the mirror. He has grown up somewhat, as Basil had hinted at. His face has lost a little of that plump softness of youth. His jawline has sharpened and the shadow of his beard darkened. But rather than the horror and despair he expected to feel at that, the young man looking back at him still looks handsome and above all kind. There is no trace of the cruel lines around the mouth that had appeared in the portrait. His eyes have not changed from the ones he remembers except perhaps an extra smiling line in the corners. There are no blemishes in his skin that betray the wicked debauchery that he had indulged in for so long. He may not look quite as perfect as he did and yet he feels he could learn to love this image more than the false mask he had worn before. It is real. 

"See? Nothing to worry about," Basil sits back in his chair and a huge sigh wrenches itself from his chest. He watches Dorian inspect himself, his huge, beautiful eyes staring in wonder onto his reflection. The artist in him yearns to take a pencil or a brush into his fingers, but the horrific happenings from the night before makes him knit his fingers together. "How are you feeling?"

Dorian tears himself away from the mirror, looking at Basil. "Like I have woken from the most dreadful dream. Horrified. Ashamed. Petrified." He sighs and lays the mirror face down on the bed, turning his gaze away. "I behaved terribly, Basil, terribly! How ashamed of me you must be."

“It was not your fault, sweet Dorian,” Basil says reassuringly, daring to use this endearment. “I am most relieved that you are alive!” _I feared for the worst._ He doesn’t say that out loud, just keeps staring at the handsome young man to make sure he is not hallucinating. He feels his heart shatter all over again as he thinks of the moment when Dorian fell down on him, lifeless. He manages to ignore the part where he had threatened his own life. That was the devil's hand, not the real Dorian, he convinces himself. 

Dorian looks back at Basil again in complete disbelief. He pushes the sheets off himself and slips out of the poster bed, noting someone dressed him in his nightwear. "You are the most remarkable man, Basil Hallward," he says softly, walking slowly towards him, his legs still feeling shaky. "Do you…" he whispers unsurely as he stands before the older man, "do you still think I'm beautiful?"

"Oh Dorian of course!" Basil exclaims, looking up at the lad in almost the same way as he had the night before. Only in between then and now something unimaginable had happened. The other night Dorian Gray, the arrogant dandy, had stood in front of him, looking down at him in a mixture of pity and lust, his gaze blurry from alcohol and opium. Only a tiny fraction of the innocent boy had remained. And he had felt so incredibly sad about it. So much so that it had physically pained him. 

Now though, now...Basil cannot tear his eyes away from that matured, handsome face. Those sleepy but otherwise clear eyes. "I think… I think," the words catch in his throat as he feels the overwhelming urge yet again to put that astonishing beauty to paper. _I will NOT paint or draw him ever again_! he promises himself and rasps, "you look even more beautiful than before, Dorian." The lad's name is like honey on his tongue and he just can't say it often enough. 

A smile, more genuine than in years, appears around Dorian's lips. "Oh Basil how can you be so kind after all that I've done. I do not deserve such kindness and yet how grateful I am that you are here saying these words to me." He kneels down before the painter, looking up at him with his huge dark eyes, taking his hands in his. "Basil I know I must not ask this of you and yet I beg of you, can you forgive me?"

Basil's hands tingle as those long, elegant fingers wrap themselves around them. A most tender touch. He does not dare to move much, only leans forward a little to be closer to those cherry red lips. "I do forgive you even though I think there is nothing to forgive, my lad," he whispers softly. 

Dorian hesitates for a few moments, not wanting to ruin the moment of salvation, worried to give the wrong impression. But as Basil leans himself in just every so slightly he feels so drawn to this man. _I kissed him and he kissed me back!_ Of course he had kissed many people, men and women, in these hazy years under the influence of the painting. And he's most aware that the kiss last night - was it really only the previous night, it feels like a lifetime ago! - had been little more to him than a way to distract Basil from the notion to exhibit the painting. And yet… there had been something else. Something that no other had stirred in him, no matter how many he had taken to bed. Suddenly a piece of the nightmare in the attic comes back to him. How just before he had plunged his knife into the canvas, something had broken his mind free from the devil's claws. _I love you…_ His eyes grow wide at that memory. And he leans forward to close the space between them, softly pressing his lips against Basil's.

Basil holds completely still when those exquisite lips meet his. The feeling is so different to the one before. The first time it was a lie, a wish, a wicked dream. This time it's a true, heartfelt gesture. His sweet Dorian kissing him and meaning it, he is sure of that. He presses back just a little, as not to scare the young man away. He feels exhilarated, his heart flying to the moon. _He is kissing me! Those pearly lips are caressing mine! Those remarkable hands cover mine. I love you so, Dorian,_ he thinks, closing his eyes.

Dorian feels like he discovers his own senses for the first time. He knows that this gesture is still considered as wicked as when he had been swept up into the opiate world of orgies and prostitutes and yet… There is something so pure about the way that Basil returns his kiss. Tender. A little unsure. And so full of love. _Can it be true? Am I selling my soul for yet another vice?_ It doesn't feel like that. This feels as real as his first love for Sybil had felt. Before he had let Harry whisper doubts into his ears. Before he had let youthful vanity and pride make the worst decision of his life. 

He slowly pulls back, opening his eyes and looking at Basil in wonder. "I … I think I love you too," he says softly, indicating that he recalls the declaration the other had made in his hour of need.

Basil gasps. _I did not say it out loud yet or did I? He must remember then!_ “You heard that I said that?” he asks softly, pulling out one hand from Dorian’s grasp and caressing his fingertips over his cheek very fleetingly.

"Last night," Dorian nods. "I …" he casts his eyes down in shame and disgrace, "I was going to kill you," he whispers very softly. "This voice, this _feeling_ inside of me, it told me to kill you. I wanted to. I _needed_ to!" he tries to explain his inner struggle. "Until you said those words." He looks up again, his eyes full of sorrow and regret. "It's like something broke. It sounds queer, I know, but suddenly I was able to think my own thoughts again." He mirrors the older man's gesture, caressing his face ever so softly. "Oh Basil, how peculiar all this is and yet it is true. Do you really love me?" he asks softly, even though he realises now that he has known that truth all along, since the day he first met this man. 

“With all my heart, my dear Dorian,” Basil leans into the gentle touch even though he’s shocked by the open confession. It’s nothing new to him though. He uttered those words deliberately, hoping they’d do exactly what Dorian was describing. He could not have lived like that any longer anyway. So, seeing the threat in the other’s eyes let him say it, finally. Those forbidden words he had swallowed countless times before. “I said it because you needed to know that someone loves _you!”_ This time he takes the lad’s hands into his and kisses his knuckles. “I have loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you,” he confesses, relieved that he is finally able to say it. 

Dorian pushes himself to his feet and holds on to both of Basil's hands, pulling him up. "I think I always knew," he says with a little smile as he guides the artist towards his bed. "As did the portrait. It feared you. It knew you were the only one who could help destroy it. I think that's why it made me do all those dreadful things. To try and drive you away." He caresses that kind face again as he climbs into his bed. "But you never left me. You never stopped believing in the boy you painted. The boy you loved. Love me now, Basil," he says softly. "You were the only one I ever truly wanted. And the only one I could not have." 

Basil's mouth goes dry at these words and the fact that he's led back to the bed. _He has desired me too since the beginning?_ It is like his heartbeat drums through his whole body and soul. "You...can have me now," Basil stammers, unsure of what to do once Dorian has settled back against his pillows. "I...I could never leave you, Dorian." _You left me though and it pained me so,_ he thinks but doesn't say it. He doesn't want to destroy the moment, it is way too precious. 

Dorian smiles at Basil's blush and endearing stammer. He's so unsure of himself. So entirely the opposite of Harry. "Lie down, my love," he whispers, placing little kisses against Basil's neck as he gently guides the man back. He props himself on his side, his fingers tracing the fine shirt that Basil must have borrowed, he realises, from his own wardrobe.

Basil feels like he's a piece of wood. He keeps staring up into those mesmerizing orbs and at least tries to fumble off his shoes with his feet. "You're breathtakingly handsome," he reaches out again to touch Dorian's face with his fingertips in the same exploring way as when he put his features on canvas. This feels a thousand times better though and it makes him tingle in places he never felt tingle in that way before.

Dorian looks up at Basil through his lashes, smiling at the compliment. He's grateful that the artist still feels that way about him. He leans over him, slowly, and presses another kiss on those fine lips. Even though they'd spent a good time French kissing the evening before, this time feels like new. True. Real. 

He slowly shifts himself a little down, his fingers deftly opening the tiny hidden buttons on his dress shirt. He maintains eye contact with Basil as he leans down to press little kisses on his bare chest, gauging his reaction.

Basil groans softly, involuntarily, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment but opens them again, to not miss one of Dorian's expressions. He carefully slides his hand up the young man's arm, feeling his warm skin beneath the material of his cotton night wear. He still thinks he's dreaming even though he can feel that perfect form so close to his. It's like Dorian radiates heat. He dares to move just that one fraction closer until their legs touch.

Dorian stops his ministrations briefly, wanting to take his time. He wants this to be different from all those times that he laid down with someone, anyone, in the past few years under the influence of the demonic painting. He pushes his hand underneath the fine silk material to stroke the warm skin beneath, sighing in bliss. His body hasn't forgotten indulging in these pleasures and heat spreads into his groin but he breathes through the urge to speed things up. 

He presses a kiss lower still, just below Basil's belly button, listening to the heavy shuddering breath he draws. Basil appears to approve of his touches and so he begins to open the man's slacks. 

"Oh Dorian," Basil draws in a sharp breath. His hand shoots down and wraps firmly around the young man's wrist, stilling him. "I … I'm not sure…"

Dorian frowns, wondering what he did wrong. "You… do not want me to do this?" He stops his attempts to undress the older man and crawls back into his reach. "I did not mean to… Do you not… like it?"

"No.. YES!" Basil sighs, stroking Dorian's beautiful hair again. "Oh Dorian, I … I have never…"

Dorian's eyes grow wide. He does not know exactly how old Basil is but he is a good few years his senior. "Never?" he asks in disbelief. 

Basil feels his blush intensify as he shakes his head. 

"Alright…” Dorian leans back just a little, unsure what to do now. _Is he repulsed by me?_ An old sting that belongs to the Dorian he wants to forget nips at him. No-one had ever turned down his advances and he can't help but feel a little hurt and confused. 

"I think… I would like to," Basil says hastily, as he sees the young man pull away in confusion. "With you." He looks at that handsome face, smiling a little unsurely, hoping that he hasn't offended Dorian. "Can we… kiss some more?" he suggests, stroking that finely chiseled face. 

Dorian beams at that, "Why of course!" He leans himself comfortably back in those welcoming arms and answers the tentative kiss, letting his older lover lead this time, exploring, slowly. He loves how softly he is caressed by those lips, surprised by how exciting it feels to take it even more slowly. When their mouths part a little to deepen that kiss, thrills run through him like he doesn't recall feeling all those times all of his wildest desires had been made reality at the mere snap of his fingers. 

“You taste so lovely,” Basil murmurs against those delicate lips and uses his tongue like a paintbrush, sliding along those natural curves, not wanting to miss an inch of them. He keeps his eyes closed now to feel everything even more intensely. Every detail of Dorian’s face inked into his brain for years. He slowly starts to let his hand wander across the other’s back. He wants to hold him close. Feel his presence. He had felt so abandoned after he lost Dorian to Harry’s influence. Now he wants to reassure himself that the young man is truly here, with him. 

"Nice," Dorian whispers as he feels the other's hands explore him, caress him. "I feel so… comfortable with you, my sweet love." He plucks at his nightgown, pulling it up a little so the top of his thighs are exposed. "Please. Touch me," he guides that hand carefully, all the while looking into those eyes that had spent so long studying him.

Basil holds his breath as his hand is laid on Dorian’s leg. The fine hairs of his thigh tickling his palm. He finds that he likes to feel those strong muscles that lie beneath the warm skin. He looks into Dorian’s eyes as they lie now on their sides, facing each other. He longs to kiss him some more and boldly does so, his hand inching itself up back onto the night gown but onto the young man's hip and further up his side and then behind, onto the small of Dorian’s back, lingering there, stroking his spine. Doing all of that with an artist’s mind. Studying, exploring, feeling. Savouring every sensation, every appreciative murmur that escapes the both of them.

Dorian can hardly believe that after everything he had done, after all those vices and wild nights, that this feels just as new and unventured to him as it must do to Basil. Little shivers run down his spine and he tilts back his head in pleasure when his lover begins to kiss his neck, just as gently and tenderly as he had his lips. "Oh Basil, that feels… delightful!" he groans, feeling his excitement build.

Basil feels goosebumps form beneath his lips and wonders how that features alongside the expression _delightful._ "You like that?" he asks for reassurance.

"Yes!" Dorian responds quickly, encouragingly. "I love your hands and your lips on me!" He tentatively places his hand on Basil's hip, stroking in slow circles. "Can I touch you?" he asks softly, smiling into that kind face.

Basil likes that hand on him. He hesitates briefly though. No one ever had touched him except a handshake or a pad on the shoulder from a friend. Yet, in this moment, he yearns for Dorian’s fingers on him. A strange curiosity emerges from inside of him. He smiles too when he nods, “Yes, please.”

Dorian kisses his man again, with a little more passion this time. He continues to stroke that hip, and over the top of his clothed buttocks and then slowly forward, watching Basil's reactions intently as he presses his hand against him through his slacks.

Basil looks at Dorian, an _Oh!_ forming with his mouth but no sound escaping him. He liked the other’s hands on his backside. He is not sure yet what to make of Dorian’s next bold move. He bites his lip and allows himself to relax and indeed enjoy this forbidden desire. To be touched _there._ By a man, _his_ man! And, after a few moments of consideration and slowly admitting to himself how wonderfully thrilling this feels, he hesitantly mirrors the action. 

Dorian groans in approval, pushing himself into that touch through the fabrics of his smalls and gown, making his need known. He feels the other man respond in kind, a little hesitant but with equal desire. "You are beautiful like that," Dorian whispers, leaning in to kiss those eloquent lips again that are now plump with arousal.

Basil kisses Dorian back, his tongue curling gently around the other’s. He had never gotten aroused before at someone’s touch, but Dorian’s delicate, talented fingers on him are very stimulating, especially as he feels the other’s desire press into his palm in turn. 

"Allow me, my love, to give you this pleasure, after all you've done for me," Dorian strokes his man a little more firmly, emboldened by the reaction it earns him. He gently encourages his lover to roll onto his back again and quickly pushes his own small clothes down from under his long gown. "I love you, Basil," he whispers as he leans over him once more, kissing the exposed flesh of his chest and stomach again to where he finished last time, praying this time he has not frightened the man again in his haste.

Basil can not believe he hears all those loving words for him from Dorian. Yet, it feels heartfelt and absolutely true. The young man who speaks them is the one he’d painted. Not the cruel imposter he’d had become. His black eyes look at him lovingly, clearly, with no trace of the portrait's or indeed Harry's influence. This is _his_ Dorian. 

“You know that I love you too, my sweet lad," he whispers back arching towards that tender kiss. “And I am eager to learn what you want to teach me,” he says breathlessly. 

Dorian feels elated at hearing those words from his lover. He climbs on top of his thighs, his gown falling across his own, keeping his modesty for now. He looks at Basil as he begins to unbutton those trousers again, watching how his chest heaves with the shallow breaths he takes in anticipation, how his pupils have dilated with the build of his arousal, his lips parted just slightly. For the first time he feels he's learning to see him with the eyes of an artist himself, focusing on those little gestures and delicate shifts in his demeanor and his physicality. 

When he slips his hand inside the man's small clothes, feeling hot flesh beneath his fingertips, those eyes grow wide and then quickly cloud over, those lips form a perfect _O_ and the most wonderful sound spills from them. 

“Dorian,” Basil says almost reverently, breathing the name. “I… I did not know…” he stammers, his focus shifting inevitably towards where those slender fingers are now. “It is very nice!” 

A bright smile shines across Dorian's face as this time he is given signs and words of approval. "My love," he says happily, helping to move the man's lower garments down. He feels his whole body tingle with desire, wondering if he's truly bold enough to proceed with this plan. His body aches for it though and he knows that if anyone, it has to be Basil. "I want you to feel this," he says huskily. "How exquisite it is! But I have never…" he grins, his own eyes shining dark with desire.

“You have never?” Basil asks, not really able to concentrate since now he’s lying almost naked beneath his adorable Adonis. The touch of Dorian’s hands on his chest are already exquisite and his bared member nestles nicely in the folds of his nightgown. He wonders what will happen next. He cannot tear his eyes away from the fine features of the man above him. Everything about Dorian is perfect. 

Dorian does not answer the question. He simply smiles that bright youthful smile of his that had charmed so many but had never been as genuine as it was then and is now for Basil Hallward. He pushes himself up a little, positioning himself above his lover. "You are the sweetest, most talented, most kind person I know, my sweet sweet love," he murmurs besottedly, holding Basil's curious gaze as he guides him, lowering himself slowly down to finally join with his admirer and his beloved. 

Basil’s eyes grow wide as he sees through Dorian’s plan. He gasps very loudly as their bodies meet to become one. “Dorian! I… oh!” he exclaims, his hands instinctively grabbing hold of Dorian’s thighs. “That is…” he just can’t find any words but moan in pleasure at the new, all consuming feeling. He had never felt such sexual desires before but now that Dorian introduces him to this very special act, he feels his whole body react excitedly. The expression of ecstasy and utter delight on the other's face stirs his own. 

Dorian gasps in surprise at the intensity of it all. He had at times lain with the blushing sons of London's high society, leading to much widespread scandal. But had never been the recipient of such pleasure. His chin falls to his chest and his soft flowing hair falls in a curtain around his face. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply, as he threads his fingers between Basil's on his hips. "Oh my love," he moans in ecstacy, shuddering. He feels overjoyed though at the soft pleasured groans and sighs he draws from sweet Basil, watching his face through the curtain of his hair, delighting in the pleasure he sees there.

"Have… have you done this before?" Basil can not help asking. His body is wracked with most intense, sweet tremors and he holds onto Dorian's fingers like onto a life rope. He feels the sudden need to thrust carefully upwards.

"No…" Dorian gasps again when Basil shifts ever so slightly. He moves his hands forward onto the man's chest to help him steady himself. Leaning forward like that helps and he grins at Basil underneath him, his dark eyes gleeful and full of arousal. He pants heavily as he tries to accommodate the man, knowing he had made others lose their wits in pure pleasure with doing this particular act with them. "Basil … ooooooh," he moans deeply. And he rocks his hips slowly, experimentally, as he had so liked his lovers doing when they took him in like that. 

Basil thinks he might faint from the pure onslaught of stimulation to _all_ his senses. What he sees above him is the most gorgeous creature on earth there is. All flushed cheeks, mused hair and rosy lips. And that smile! He finds that he truly likes to give Dorian pleasure and he starts to move with the other's body. It's absolutely exquisite, like nothing he has experienced before. And Dorian's hands on his nude flesh make him shiver even more. 

"My love…" Dorian whispers, relishing in the wild sensations now and the fact that reserved, proper and shy Basil is enjoying this with him, meeting him in the way they move together now, his skin turning a delightful blotchy pink, his lips trembling softly. He raises himself up a little again so he can move better, faster, his body welcoming his beloved now, sparks of pure ecstasy shooting through him like that new miracle they call electricity.

Basil finds that he can not speak anymore except mutter Dorian's name over and over, alternating it with _my beloved._ His hands fly all over that delicious body and with the urge to see and touch it all, he pulls the young man's gown over his head and groans yet again. The artist's senses totally overwhelmed.

The young man's groans are becoming louder, his hips rock wilder as he feels those hands and those eyes all over him. Dorian feels lost to the pure delight of the act as well as the intensity of his feelings for the man he had silently been drawn to for so long. He throws his head back now and again as he finds the perfect stimulation that makes his whole body thrum and sing and writhe. His own arousal now laid bare he desires those talented hands to touch him there and he takes Basil's hand, looking at him through lust hooded eyes, slowly guiding him, pressing him against his desperate need.

Basil holds his breath as his hand connects with the softest velvet. He lets his fingertips exploringly wander over it, around it, looking at it with his mouth watering. "Flawless," he mutters, stilling his movements for a moment to stare at that newly exposed, finely sculpted body part of Dorian. "Just like all of you, my love."

"You say the most poetic things, sweet Basil," Dorian sighs as he's admired anew and so wonderfully intimately. "Perhaps you should try your hand at poetry," he puffs through his shuddering movement. "Oh Basil, I …" That hand holding him as delicately as a paint brush, combined with the burning heat coiling deep inside of him that is fanned by their love making, sends him rushing headlong towards his peak.

Basil feels all those shudders in his very core, like they are led from one body to the other and back. He's completely on fire for the very first time in his life. "Oh Dorian what sweet things you do to me," he gasps, daring to move his hand a little quicker, grasp a little tighter just as he's grasped by his lover's body. There are hundreds of butterflies in his stomach as he watches the young man come completely undone before his very eyes. _A true miracle._

Dorian gives himself to the high he had chased so often and without much care for anyone else or their pleasure before. This time it's different though. This time he wants his bed partner to dance this wonderful waltz with him, spinning and spinning on that dizzying crescendo. He throws himself forward, thrusting into that hand, all his muscles pulled taut, moaning loudly on his release. He forces himself to keep his eyes wide open though, wanting Basil to see the wonderful ecstasy burning in his eyes. 

"My...my Dorian," Basil flits his glance from his beloved's eyes to their joined bodies and back up. His hands holding them together as he lets go of any inhibitions now in his need to follow the younger man over the edge. It is mind blowing. Extraordinary. An explosion of a thousand colours behind his eyes as he holds onto that slender body as they ride their high together. 

Dorian sinks onto his lover, panting, shuddering, feeling reborn and more satisfied than ever before. Not just for the pleasure of the body but for the love he feels glowing between him and Basil, like something quite precious and hard to find. Indeed he had hunted this most wonderful feeling for years, he realises now. Ever since that dreadful day that he had learnt that Miss Sybil Vain had taken her own life. His love for her had not been like this love he feels now. He had been but a child, blindly rejoicing in the first flicker of it before he good and well understood what life let alone love was about. Harry was wrong though. He had drunk from all the forbidden pleasures in the world. But none of them had ever made him feel like this. None of them had ever made him feel happy. 

He lays himself into Basil's embrace, closing his eyes and just breathing deeply, feeling their heartbeats try and outrun each other, heat pulsing between them. His lips are pressed against the other man's warm skin, breathing in his familiar scent.

Basil cannot speak. First because he is so out of breath, he feels like he tried to catch a horse. Second because there are no words in the world that can describe what he’s feeling right now. He is totally consumed by and wrapped up in true and everlasting _love._ The bliss he saw in Dorian’s expressions and demeanor just now was his unspoiled self. The handsome adolescent he got to know years ago grown into a respectful young man. All the cruelty that tainted him had disappeared. “I am so in love with you, Dorian Gray,” he breathes at last, stroking the lad’s bare back. The faint whip marks he feels add to his perfect imperfectionism.

Dorian slowly opens his eyes at those beautifully spoken words that melt his stone heart. He still can hardly believe that they are here, lying together in his bed, drowsy from their love making, when only the night before he had nearly killed the man his heart belongs to. He carefully strokes across Basil's chest and along his collarbones, mapping out every little detail that had gone unnoticed before when he had chased the ghost of love in every other way but where he would truly find it. "Basil," he says softly, suddenly feeling a little unsure of himself again, like he had felt when he had first come to London. "Basil, can that really be true? Can I really love you and you me? Everyone tells me that it is a wicked thing to do so. And yet I have done more wicked things than most men ever will in their entire lives," he croaks, feeling that shame again. He pushes himself up just enough to gaze into Basil's warm eyes. "This did not feel wicked to me. And you would never do anything that was not pure and right, my precious love," he smiles softly into that kind face. 

Basil strokes his fingertips across those flushed cheeks anew, looking at Dorian in wonder, like he sees him for the very first time. “You must not listen to those people who say that,” he traces his index finger across those beautifully swollen lips now. “You make me so incredibly happy, my sweet Dorian,” he whispers in awe. After having loved Dorian for almost a decade without any hope of the lad returning it, with Dorian giving him lots of heartache while listening to and believing every word Harry had whispered into those innocent ears, he now holds him right here, in his arms. “I am so very much in love with you. I always have been,” he admits, debunking Harry’s theories. He pauses and then adds very softly, “Come with me to Paris, Dorian.”

"Paris?" Dorian blinks.

“Yes, Paris,” Basil says more firmly now, smiling. “No one knows us there,” _and Harry will not be there either._ “We...we can be happy together, Dorian,” he moves up a little and breathes a gentle kiss against his mouth.

"But… what about your work here? What about Harry? What…" Dorian stops talking and smiles, rolls onto his back and begins to laugh. Freely, happily, for the first time in what feels like years. "Paris? Truly? Oh my love," he pulls Basil close again, kissing his lips, caressing his face, "you really think we can just leave everything behind us and start again? How wonderfully romantic that sounds!" he beams.

“Yes we can!” Basil delights in the carefree laughter and joins his beloved. “I can work anywhere, and Paris is a most fitting city for the both of us. I… I do not think that Harry will miss us much,” he dares to say in earnest though, knowing how close Dorian and him were. He actually winces after he’s brought him up just now, in the cozy aftermath of their first love making. 

Dorian frowns at that. "What makes you say that? Surely he will miss us, Basil. But perhaps he will come and visit us. I cannot wait to tell Harry that we are going to Paris, Basil! Tomorrow I …"

"My dear Dorian," Basil says with earnest in his voice now, caressing those fine cheekbones. "I think it is not wise for you to see Harry tomorrow. Or any other of our former circle.for that matter," he pauses, concerned about Dorian's reaction. The fear of being rebuffed still sitting deep inside of him. He continues though, wanting to get it all out. "There might be rumours as now you do look more mature than before so all of a sudden. It would be better to wait a while. Let us go to Paris and when we return the changes in you will be less noticeable." 

Dorian bites his lip and touches his own face again. In their wonderful love making he had forgotten about the changes in his features since the portrait had been destroyed. "I guess you are right there, my dear love," he says solemnly. "Oh Basil, you are so wise! This is the most wonderful suggestion!" he throws his arms around his lover's neck again, kissing him anew. "We _will_ be happy in Paris, my love! Thank you for saying it! I love you so!"

Basil’s heart races in his chest as he sees pure happiness sparkle from those dark, mysterious eyes, “Yes, we will be!” he smiles happily too and he hugs the love of his life close to his chest. "I will spoil you so much my beloved," Basil mutters into Dorian's hair. "Just as you spoiled me now. I feel truly blessed." He is in awe at what they just did; part of him hardly believing it. And Paris… what a wonderful adventure to look forward to. A new start, for the both of them. 

+++

"Paris? You have gone mad, dear Basil!" Lord Henry scoffs. "And you will take Dorian with you, you say? Whatever the Devil for?" He looks at Basil Hallward in perplexion, lighting his cigarette.

_To take him as far away from your influence as possible._

"He wants to see Europe so he asked me if he could come with me," Basil responds, feeling guilty that he’s making this up behind Dorian’s back. _What if Harry writes to him?_

"Hm, that boy is like a little bird, always wanting to fly. I suppose I must not clip his wings. And neither must you, my dear fellow," Lord Henry urges Basil. "Let him spread those wings and enjoy the delights of Paris then. Don't look at me like that, Basil. You know what I mean. And you can be awfully dull at times."

Basil looks a little taken aback. _Dorian does not think I am dull,_ he is tempted to say. _Or does he?_ No, he won't let Harry whisper doubts into his mind again. He is surprised that Lord Henry does not protest about the fact that he is taking the young man - _his friend -_ away from him. But then he does not know that it is for good. That they will not come back. 

"I will not clip his wings. You can be sure of that," Basil has a hard time not to smile too fondly or smugly. "Goodbye, Harry, our carriage is waiting," he tips his hat and takes his leave, too afraid the wrong words will suddenly slip from his lips triumphantly. _Dorian and I are in love with each other. You must not know that, Harry. And I will never let you take him from me again._

A victorious smile plays around his mouth as he leaves that house for good and joins his beautiful love in the carriage, bathing in the sparkle that is back in those mesmerising eyes and as they set off to their new life together. 


End file.
